


Other Side

by CDWin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Loss, Lost - Freeform, Love, M/M, Sad, Searching, drunk, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26882002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CDWin/pseuds/CDWin
Summary: Elongated version of "Our Ghost Story" and mostly from Dean's POV. So go read my short little ghost story then come back and see what's up.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester, castiel and dean - Relationship





	1. Good As Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! It's shit but dont judge :)

Dean had to leave. There really was no choice for him. It doesn’t mean it felt right, but like he had to. He felt the loss in every cell of his body. The house itself creaked and cried with the loss of its owner whom loved it so. His body screamed for him to stay, the house moaned, the dust settled, the wind hit the windowpane in the bedroom, _Stay…stay…stay._

Dean had tried to pack as much as he could. There were still items throughout the house he felt he could not, would not, touch. The ties in the closet, the bags of clothes collecting dust in the corner, the toothbrush still in the holder, the antique pie plate in the cupboard. Oh god what he would give for a fresh apple pie to be in that pie plate. To come home to that smell wafting through the fall breeze, his love in the kitchen swaying to the beat of some old song playing low on the speakers.

Dean couldn’t stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. There are moments in time separated into what he considers to be “before” and “after”. It takes all his might not to focus on the “before”. Happiness, he realizes, is fleeting. The “before” was gone too soon, there should never have been an “after”. Life kind of sucks. 

Sunlight shining through the window, dust swirling. Warm but not hot. He can hear the soft breathing of the man asleep beside him, see long eyelashes laid against tanned cheek. The memories from “before” are compelling, threatening to suck him in. He wishes so badly to go back to that morning.

He had fought so hard to not move into this fucking house. It was old, next to a field that caused dirt to be stuck to every surface when the soil was worked. Small, barely enough room for a full-sized bed in the bedroom and just enough room for a desk and keyboard in the second room. The wood fireplace was the only source of heat and air leaked around the front door like a son of a bitch causing a perma-chill in the winter that even the toastiest fire couldn’t quite rid. There was an entrance to a root cellar through the kitchen floor that quite honestly looked like the threshold to hell. The kitchen was bright yellow and smelled like sunshine, and Cas had instantly loved it. Through the pains that living in a 110 year-old house threw at them, they were happy. So, so happy.

Sam had said he should write a note to Cas and leave it in the house. Like as a final goodbye. He figured Sam is in touch with his feelings so if he said some girlie shit about it, Deans best bet was to go along with it. He didn’t quite know what to say but pen hit paper and damn did it feel good to let it out. It feels good to think he will be leaving a piece of himself here in the final resting place of “before”.

Sometimes he thinks he feels Cas in this house. Feels him move, feels him watching. It had been 11 months since he lost him. Almost a year of “after”. Sometimes, especially when he’s drunk, Dean feels like it would have been easier had he never met Cas. Those are the mornings he wakes up with the most regret, the worst hangover. He had never felt a love so deep, and doubts he will again. “After” is pretty meaningless and if it weren’t for Sammy, he wouldn’t have had the strength to continue on. Dean feels haunted, haunted by what was and what will never be.

The floorboard lifts easily. Right under the archway from living room to dining room, in the heart of the house. He is sure to seal it with a new nail. He can feel his heart sealing shut with the pound of the hammer. It is time to go, Sam is in the car, his belongings are waiting. It is time to start this new chapter of “after”.


	2. Be Still My Heart

Cas had come to think that their house was haunted. He had sworn his favorite picture of them had been moved. Dean thought he was nuts as usual. Weeks went by and Cas went from pictures being moved, to glasses full of water, to his keys being hidden. Apparently, this ghost didn’t make Cas love the house any less, though. Dean had over heard Cas talking to his brother about it and Dean didn’t have the strength to bring it up and tell him that the ghost wasn’t real.

They had been fighting recently. Dean had made it clear that this living situation was temporary. He said it, plain as day, temp-or-ary. He desperately wanted to find a bigger space for them, for him to continue his work, to have a little room to breathe. Cas would just say that this place is their home and then would clam up and refuse to talk about it. Dean didn’t know what to do, Castiel could be so stubborn sometimes.

The deciding factor was Sammy. He needed to come home and their house was too small to house such a sasquatch. It took quite a bit of talking but eventually Cas gave in. Craiglist was their bestfriend for weeks while they attempted to find something perfect. He knew his true home was in Castiel and regardless of where they lived, they would be okay. There was a cute little farmhouse for rent outside of town, similar to what their current situation was now, but off the busy road and with enough room for 3 grown men. Even Cas was alright with the upcoming move.

Dean was in the shower when it happened. He felt the presence Cas had described. In that moment he felt such overwhelming sadness and love envelop him it brought him to his knees. He sobbed for what felt like hours. Cas found him in the tub with the water running cold, mixing with tears running hot down his cheeks. Dean didn’t have words, but somehow Cas knew. He just gathered Dean in his strong arms and sat with him with no regard to the cold water pounding onto them.

Sometimes Dean thinks Cas knew what was going to happen to him. That night in the shower made it clear that Cas had been through something similar. At some point while Dean was blissfully unaware, Cas had felt these overwhelming emotions. Dean left him alone to muddle through and was none-the-wiser. Cas had felt this. 

Dean has felt so many things, but even in the “after”, he has never felt something as strong as what he felt that day. He still has no answers. He still feels the presence in the house but not with the same rush. He is glad for that. He is unsure if he would be able to live if he felt that strongly again. There were nights he imagined a hand on his shoulder, the weight a comfort as he cried himself to sleep. Moments where he was at his lowest, when he felt the cold steel under his chin and his finger on the trigger, with whiskey on his breath, and still he felt his invisible friend with him. 

The first time he brought somebody home in the “after” made him truly believe something was in the house and wasn’t necessarily just him going crazy. He had found her at the bar, the startling blue eyes drew him in. He wanted so badly for her to be Cas. Every second he spent exploring her mouth, her body, he wished she was Cas. He tried to lose himself in her warmth, in her mouth, in her wetness. He couldn’t bring her to their…his room. The living room made due and he found a sliver of joy in the moment. The books flying off the shelf startled him and startled her more. He chalked it up to coincidence and tried his best to push it out of his mind.

He laid on the living room floor that night and felt his hollow heart beat steadily. His last thought as he drifted to sleep was how Cas must have been so mad if he threw books at him tonight.


	3. The Crash

Dean was no stranger to death. More of an old friend actually. His mother died in a house fire when he was four. His father killed himself not long after. Nothing could have prepared him for this though. He had found his father next to a bottle of pills and a fifth of jack and man that took a while to get over, but it was child’s play compared to his life now.

Today was one of the days where he was home from work before Castiel. The rich smell of tomato, garlic, and beef swirled through the air. Spaghetti was one of Cas’ favorites. He would always do this cute thing where he slurped the noodles and ended up with tomato sauce all over his face. It was Dean’s favorite to clean it off with kisses, garlic breath be damned. He was grating the parmesan cheese when he heard to squeal of metal colliding with metal.

Dean thought Cas had a safe car. Not as big as his baby, but safe nonetheless. I guess when a drunk hits you head on at 60 miles per hour it doesn’t really matter though. The first thing Dean noticed was the blood. There was so much blood. He had called 911 and the moment he saw Cas, the world dropped away. He heard the gurgled “Dean” that came from his mouth and all he could do was hold his whole world as Cas took his final breath. 

The police say the driver will be charged with DUI and vehicular manslaughter. Regardless of charges, that will not change the fact that Cas had died. 50 yards from their driveway, Cas had died. He was supposed to be home, he was supposed to be eating spaghetti, he was supposed to be wrapped in Dean’s arms in bed, not being transported to the county morgue.

Dean let the spaghetti burn that night, willing it to catch on fire and burn him alive.

The county wanted him to come down and ID Cas to make sure it was him. As if Dean hadn’t already seen him, as if it would change a thing. Looking into the cold face of the love of his life was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He was so angry. He felt himself lashing out at the nurse but felt unable to stop himself as if he had no control over his own body. He just needed to go home.

They don’t tell you how empty a house is when somebody dies. The loneliness seeps in to every rafter. The tears roll, the house sighs. The fucking food is never ending as if you feel like eating. Dean knows he looks like shit, but he doesn’t care. He knows he is losing weight, but he doesn’t care. The first apple pie he was brought made him hopeful. He got about halfway through before vomiting and throwing the pie plate against the wall and shattering it. Rage simmers low in his gut, his pain blossoms like a flower in his chest. Why does this have to be his life, he did not sign up for this. He didn’t want any of this.

He would give his own life if it meant one more day with Cas.


End file.
